


The mysteriously mysterious muggle

by lonely_night, Serendipitous_dreamer42633



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Esmé and Olaf are on Tinder, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humour, ITS GOOD WE PROMISE, Just Roll With It, Larry your-waiter is sassy, M/M, Strong Language, cross over fic, dark humour, exaggerated drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_night/pseuds/lonely_night, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipitous_dreamer42633/pseuds/Serendipitous_dreamer42633
Summary: ‘Suddenly an idea struck him, like the lightning bolt that would surely scar Harry Potter’s forehead for the rest of his life.Why not go Muggle?!’Voldemort gets roped into Count Olaf’s questionable schemes, or Olaf gets roped into Voldemort’s, it depends how you look at it. Either way, things about to get very messy, very sassy, and very confusing. Fast.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look away, look away, look away, look away.  
> This fic will haunt your nightmares, your hair shall turn grey, Voldemort is here, I am very sorry to say.
> 
> So look away, look away, look away.  
> A certain wizard enters other life and has a struggle.  
> I suppose we can't blame him, it's hard being Muggle.  
> Our good friend Larry served him unpleasant Salmon gourmet,  
> But never mind, we can all agree Voldemort is not our bae.  
> Just look away, look away.

Voldemort sighed. That bloody Potter-boy. Or not bloody. Unfortunately for him. Voldemort sighed again. He was on the run (like normal), but this time it actually was kind of dire. His reputation was in tatters! He couldn’t kill a baby! Voldemort cringed. Added to that, all his fellow death eaters were in Azkaban, for merlins sake! He was so done with the Wizarding World. They couldn’t seem to accept that he was a genius! It was all for the greater good anyway, thought Voldemort, echoing Gellert Grindelwald before him. Grindelwald had been a fool, he wasn’t.

After such a long time on the run, Voldemort was beginning to run out of money, and besides, there was only so much his transfiguration powers could do in an emergency - transfiguring your entire self was quite difficult after all.

Suddenly an idea struck him, like the lightning bolt that would surely scar Harry Potter’s forehead for the rest of his life.

Why not go Muggle?!

 

Voldemort apparated outside a restaurant, wearing a totally inconspicuous moth-bitten floppy hat, (even though it was winter, ‘oops’, thought Voldemort, he’d change that when he got the chance), and a long dog-mauled trench coat. ‘Bang on the money’, thought Voldemort, walking past a Muggle sitting on the side of the street wearing exactly the same thing. ‘I’ll totally fit in here’. He secretly conjured up some muggle money. He was starving, and although it was a bit fishy to name ones restaurant after a disease, the hunger won, he walked in.

 

Voldemort turned round and snorted with laughter. Who, or rather, what, the fuck was coming toward him. "Hello, I'm Larry Your-waiter."

Voldemort rolled his eyes, "Whatever, whats your actual name?"

Larry looked hurt, and more than a little annoyed, “my name actually is Larry Your-Waiter.”

Voldemort stared.

“Yup”, Larry smiled awkwardly.

Voldemort looked in horror at the man's uniform. He was dressed as a Salmon. Was this really what the Muggles were into these days?

"Like the hat." Larry commented.

"It's better than your Salmon shit."

The man opposite him raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know that this suit is very high quality."

"Looks it." The wizard scoffed.

"I don't have to fucking serve you."

"Uh you do - you're the waiter." Voldemort pointed out.

Larry rolled his eyes. "For fucks sake."

"Menu?" Voldemort asked.

"You don't get a flipping menu."

"Uh okay?"

"Here," Larry grumbled, "have your fucking Salmon."

Larry threw a large, bloody Salmon onto his plate. "Fucking eat it." Voldemort watched in amusement as he waddled away, tripping over the odd table leg. He must eat here more often, the wizard thought.

 

Although. Although.

Was this REALLY a restaurant? How could it be? It was like some sort of joke! MAYBE IT WAS A JOKE.

Voldemort frowned in disbelief. Were the wizards onto him already?!

He suddenly realised they probably were. The restaurant was called Salmonella for fucks sake, who else would walk into a restaurant named by a disease?! And the stupid ministry with their crap imagination had probably thought he’d fall for it.

Voldemort paused.

Oh wait.

He had.

Ooooooookay, he really needed to leave. Right now.

He stood up.

“Uh noooooooope I don’t think so!” said Larry, dashing towards him with surprising speed, given his costume.

Ever since the Salmonella restaurant had been deemed ‘out’ it had had trouble paying the bills, and Larry was NOT going to let a customer leave without them having paid for their fucking salmon first.

Using his death grip normally reserved for Count Olaf, Larry forced the man back into his chair.

‘Okay, okay, callmmmmmmm down’, Voldemort broke into a cold sweat. Was it too obvious to get his wand out? Of course it was, don’t be an idiot, he couldn’t obliviate all this people, and he was HUNGRY. All he had to do was eat his fucking salmon, pay, and RUN.

 

 

Two hours later Voldemort had only just escaped Larry’s scaly grasp. He was never going to eat another salmon. Ever. Again.

Just the thought of that toxic salmon sorbet made him want to chuck.

However, the main problem was that Voldemort couldn’t even fathom the idea of running anywhere at all. He was far too full of that FUCKING DISGUSTING SALMON to do any kind of exercise. Even walking was a chore.

All the same, he had to start walking - apparating was certainly not an option as it made you want to throw up even at the best of times - to get away from the salmon place and that salmon man, frigging LARRY, let alone get away from what was surely a sick joke set up by the Ministry.

 

A good deal of walking later (Voldemort had turned an impressive shade of green several times but had yet to actually chuck up the salmon, a feat that he found even more impressive), he stumbled upon a place he recognised, and, on further scrutiny, realised he knew it very well.

The place that he saw in front of his disbelieving eyes was somewhere that would always haunt him, maybe even more than that Salmonella place, and that was saying something.

It was the orphanage.

His orphanage.

Where he had spent eleven years of a tortured childhood until he had gone to Hogwarts.

Such anger filled him, unlike almost anything that Voldemort had ever experienced, even after failing to kill that ... BOY. He spat on the ground in fury, an action which caused him to notice the various piles of dry kindling by the doors of the orphanage.

Smiling sinisterly, he muttered ‘incendio’, and turned his back, walking off to find a higher vantage point to watch in glee as his childhood horror burned to the ground.

 

A few days later he got ambushed.

 

 

Ambushed by someone you may recognise very well upon further scrutiny. The Baudelaire children certainly would anyway. Like they had done many times before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look away, look away, look away, look away.  
> Jacquelyn is a badass, not really a surprise, Voldy is away, wearing a disguise.  
> So look away, look away, look away.  
> Olivia and Jacques disagree, but don't worry, it's okay.  
> And Voldy won't let Larry's SaLmon get in his way.   
> Down they drive at 42 to save Larry's arse,  
> If I were you, I'd look away and let this event pass.  
> Just look away, look away.

"Do you remember the first time I met you?"

"Of course." Olivia smiled. "How could I forget?"

Jacques smirked. "I didn't expect you to."

"Why did you ask then?" She jutted her chin forwards. His eyes twinkled, and he laughed. "You've got me there."

Olivia's brown eyes narrowed. "Oh I don't think so - there's something else."

"Since when could you see through me?" Jacques smiled, but his eyes betrayed a sadness in his features that Olivia had never seen before.

Standing, she walked over to him, her hand on his shoulder, concern furrowing her forehead.

He shook his head. "Go back to the bed."

Confused, Olivia sat down again on the bed in their hotel room.

In the silence that followed, she kneaded the purple duvet anxiously, (different to the adverb 'nervously' which Lemony Snicket over explained far too much in one episode), stared at Jacques' back, glanced up to look at his face through the mirror, and then looked fixedly at his tense back muscles.

 

She sighed. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

 

He thought about not saying anything. He thought about walking straight out of the hotel without a word. He caught her eyes in the mirror; innocent, intelligent, and lost. What was she doing with him?

Jacques turned, a sob catching in his throat before he forced it down, his eyes watering slightly. Olivia's eyes widened - she'd noticed. Unsteadily, he walked over to the bed, sitting heavily down next to her.

This time, she didn't touch him, even though his body ached for her.

"I'm afraid, Olivia." He began.

"Aren't we all?" She spoke softly.

"No - that's not what I-"

Her fingers fluttered across his waist. "What is it, Jacques?"

"I'm afraid that I-" his voice broke.

"Look at me." He let Olivia turn his face towards her. He let his eyes meet her earnest gaze. He let his heart tug in his chest. He let himself look at her.

And then he tore himself away, mentally, physically.

"I-I'm afraid I'm going to loose you."

 

"Jacques Snicket?" Larry Your-Waiter’s voice crackled through the reciever.

“The World is quiet here,” he continued.

 

Jacques glanced at Olivia beside him. Her large brown eyes were sad.

"Jacques, I don't care if-"

He interrupted her. "Can you pass me my radio?"

"Jacques-"

"Please, Olivia." His voice sounded heavy, tired.

 

"Larry!!" Jacquelyn exclaimed.

"Uhhh... Jacquelyn?!" A confused voice replied.

"Thank goodness you called - it's so boring with Mr Poe - we legit do nothing, and-"

"Ummm..."

"Ah yes, business! Jacques, Olivia, you there?"

 

Slowly, Olivia passed the receiver to Jacques.

"Thank you, Miss Caliban."

"I hate it when you're formal-" Olivia hissed.

"I know." He murmured.

"Jacques-"

 

Click

 

"Larry - what's going on?"

"Good motherfucking question! I mean- I'm asking myself the same flippin' thing with this flippin' Sallllmon!"

"Seriously you have to stop pronouncing it like 'SaLmon.' It sounds... abnormal."

"Yes well thank you 'know-it-all' Mr Jacques Snicket but it just so happens that this cherfugging SaLmon place is-"

"Larry?" Jacquelyn pressed.

“OKAY FINE JACQUELYN! - There’s this random guy who’s just walked in and he’s super dodgy and I’m confused cuz we get like no customers - sad times - but he’s acting super suspicious and I don’t know what to do BECAUSE HE AINT NO COUNT OLAF!

I mean I know Count Olaf has his shitty disguises but THIS GUY IS NOT ONE OF THEM.

WAIT

WAIT

WHATTTT!”

 

 

....

 

“WHAT?!” Asked Jacquelyn.

 

“HE’S JUST LEFT! I REPEAT, THE TARGET HAS LEFT THE BUILDING!”

“I heard you the first time, Larry,” muttered Jacques.

“WHAT DO I DOOO?!!?"

 

Larry took a deep breath.

The radio crackled.

 

“HELP!!!!!!!” He screamed.

 

There was a pause.

"I'd rather be working with Mr Poe actually."

"Seriously Jacquelyn, I'm not lying when I say that I need help over here!"

Jacquelyn sighed into the receiver.

"Okay. Salmonella in 20. Jacques, Olivia, how far away are you?"

"Roughly about 10 minutes. That okay?"

"Sure, just step on it."

"Got it."

 

Click

 

Jacques stood, pocketing the radio in his jeans, shrugging on his coat. "Coming?"

When there was no reply; he forced himself to look at Olivia.

She was shaking her head.

"You're a volunteer." He reminded her.

"And you've changed."

He was surprised at the bitterness in her voice.

"Olivia."

When she looked up at him, Jacques saw a tear trip down her cheeks.

"Olivia." He said again, his voice softer. "I'm so sorry."

"You're right, you know: I'm a volunteer too."

He frowned, and then understood.

"No."

"You can only blame yourself."

"I won't have you put yourself in danger"

"You already have. You just won't admit to it and now it's sinking in."

Jacques felt a weight settling unpleasantly in his stomach. She was right.

"So," Olivia said, "Do you remember the first time we met?"

A hint of a smile rose on Jacques' lips. "Of course - how could I forget?"

"I didn't think you had really."

He grinned, holding the door for her: "Librarians first."

Olivia flushed. "Why, thank you."

Jacques winked.

 

Click

 

"On our way."

"About time too!"

 

Click

 

Olivia smiled, reaching for Jacques' hand. He linked his fingers with hers, never wanting to let go.

"Ready?" He asked her, already knowing the answer.

"Always."

 

 

Larry was frantic (a word which here means ‘bursting with nervous - and slightly terrified - energy’).

Who on holy saLmon’s earth was this guy?!!!

The mysteriously mysterious stranger clearly wasn’t Count Olaf - his disguise was too good for that - but what worried Larry was that the man HAD to be one of Olaf’s vile associates, which meant the true terror of a man had to be nearby. And if Olaf was nearby... the Baudelaires had to be too.

Despite Olivia, Jacques, Jacquelyn, and Larry’s best attempts at finding the children, they truly were good at being ‘on the lam’, as none of them had managed to successfully find, help, or even see them.

Larry sighed, as only a man who has lost most of his dignity due to him waddling about in a salmon suit, could.

They really needed this meeting because THE FUCKING IMPOLITE BASTARD OF MAN WHO HADNT STOPPED FUCKING SWEARING AT HIM WAS REALLY STARTING TO GET ON LARRY’S LAST CHERFUGGING NERVE BECAUSE HE WAS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE AND THEY NEEDED TO FUCKING STOP HIM!!!!!!!

 

“THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS?!!!!!”, bellowed Larry Your-Waiter into the radio.

“Ouch! My ears!” Muttered Jacques.

“Well,” said Jacquelyn, “I’ve just overtaken Jacques and Olivia soooo...”

“Jacquelyn! You shouldn’t use your phone when you’re driving!” Shrieked Jacques, panicked.

“Technically, it’s a Walkie-fricking-talkie, so shush your mouth Snicket!”

“Wait, let me get this straight... Jacquelyn, you were like 20 minutes away and you’ve just overtaken Olivia and Jacques who were wayyyy closer...” said a surprised Larry.

“HELL YEAH! IM A BAD-ASS BITCH!” Screamed Jacquelyn.

There was a pause.

“Actually, they’re just real slow drivers...”

Larry groaned, "Guys would it kill you to break the speed limit?!"

"We're already going 42 in a 40 zone!"

"Oh fucking wow."

 

 

 

 

Voldemort had burned that fucking. Orphanage. Down. To. The. Ground.

He felt powerful. He felt good. He felt -

Sirens blared in the distance. Oh shit.

He disapperated.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look away, look away, look away, look away.  
> 4 VFD members try to find the Count, naturally it fails, Olaf is still crowned.  
> So look away, look away, look away.  
> The Baudelaire Brats still have their sweet, sweet style.  
> As the other VFD sing, we want to run a mile.  
> A large saLmon tries to save the kids up on the stage  
> Please, rescue yourselves from this terrible Ice Age   
> Just look away, look away.

The door banged open, swinging on it’s hinges.  
From the dust, Olivia and Jacques emerged, looking for all the world like badass ass-kickers.  
Larry blinked. When did they get so cool?!!  
“WE’VE FOUND HIM!” shouted Olivia, triumphantly.

Several things happened at once.

Jacquelyn withdrew her receiver from Larry’s neck, Larry screamed “SEE JACQUELYN! THE CREEPY MAN!”, Jacques shouted, “no! Olaf!”, and the previously-abused door fell off its hinges, smashing to the floor, narrowly avoiding Olivia, who ran out of the way, straight into Jacques’s arms, causing them both to collapse to the floor.  
Larry, in his fright, jumped into Jacquelyn’s arms, who promptly dropped him.

Surveying the scene around her, Jacquelyn raised an eyebrow, “what are you all waiting for?! Get up!!!! WE HAVE TO CATCH OLAF!”

Cramming into Jacques’ tiny taxi, they sped (or rather, stuck to the speed limit), down the road towards... “sorry, where are we going again?” Asked Larry, rubbing his back from when he had been mercilessly dumped onto the floor.  
“To: ‘It’s a Wrap!’, where else?”  
“Oh yeah, do you think I could get a job there?” Asked Larry hopefully - he had been so creeped out by the mysterious stranger at Salmonella that he didn’t think he could face going back there again.  
“Actually, yes,” replied Jacques, “we’re going to need someone to be undercover to catch Olaf!”  
Larry’s face brightened considerably, “I still don’t know why he decided to go into a restaurant...”  
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Jacques grimly.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing your stupid salmon suit,” Muttered Jacquelyn as Larry flailed, “It’s a saLmon suit actually,” he muttered, but then frowned as he tried to get out of the car, “I’m stuck! You’re going to have to push me!”  
Jacquelyn sighed, beginning to push Larry in his suit out of the car.  
“It’s not working!” Larry squeaked, “and I’m going to need some oxygen soon!”  
Jacquelyn glared at Larry’s scaly back, and drew back her foot, kicking him with all the strength she could muster (which was a lot).

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed Larry, falling onto the floor.

Jacquelyn raised an amused eyebrow.  
“Let’s go!” She said, marching off in the direction of Jacques and Olivia.  
“Helpppp....” said Larry, weakly, and, unable to get up, began to roll towards the restaurant, “I’m turning into sushi....”

  
It was evening.  
The wrap bar was transforming.  
“-AND LET’S GIVE A BIG HAND TO THE SUPPORTING ACT! AND THEY ARE..... V.F.D.!”  
The crowd went wild.

  
V.F.D?????!!!!!!!!! Jacquelyn frowned. On top of that she had just noticed two twins. Who looked strangely familiar. And not because they looked like each other.   
She had to get closer.  
Olivia whipped around. She was sure she recognised that man. Or woman. No, man. No, it was woman! No, it was definitely a man!  
Olivia had no idea, and that was fine, she wasn’t going to discriminate against anybody, but she was pretty sure that that was the henchman of indiscriminate gender who belonged to Count Olaf’s little team and - “V.F.D!!!!!” Olivia almost choked.   
She had to get closer.  
Jacques groaned inwardly, he could have sworn that that man had had hooks for hands. Nothing against men with hooks as hands of course, but he was sure that this particular man with hooks as hands was in Count Olaf’s infamous ‘acting’ troop. And what was that about V.F.D?!!!?  
He had to get closer.  
Larry, who had somehow managed to stand up and was serving saLmon wraps, almost fell over again. V.F.D?!!!!!!  
And WHY was the announcer’s voice SO FAMILIAR?!!!   
He had to get closer.

As Larry progressed forward with his wraps, he heard an unfamiliar - and horrific - noise.  
WHAT WAS THAT?!!!!!!!!!!  
The crowd were still cheering madly.  
Taking a step back from the horrific ‘music’, Larry stepped on Jacquelyn’s foot.  
“Ouch!” Hissed Jacquelyn, “watch it, you motherf- oh hi Larry!” She beamed, “actually, the same warning goes for you as much as anyone else.”  
Larry gulped.  
Just at that moment, Jacques and Olivia appeared, “hey, guys! Count Olaf’s acting troop is here!”  
“We gathered,” Replied Jacquelyn, “now we just need to find Olaf!”  
“Let’s head towards the source of that ‘lovely’ heh, music,” suggested Jacques.

As they got closer, the lyrics of the song got clearer, and therefore, worse.

  
_“We are........................”_

All four members of V.F.D. (That is; Larry, Jacquelyn, Olivia, and Jacques), held their breaths, terrified to hear what the singers were going to say...

_“Volunteers Fighting Disease,_   
_And we’re cheerful all day long._   
_If someone said that we were sad,_   
_That person would be wrong.”_

“Oh,” said Larry, “that was a let-down”.  
All members of the actual V.F.D. breathed a sigh of relief, and submitted themselves to the torture of the worryingly catchy tune:

“ _We visit people who are sick,_  
 _And try to make them smile,_  
 _Even if their noses bleed,_  
 _Or if they cough up bile.”_

“We need to find Olaf guys,” reminded Jacques.  
“Oh yeah!” Said Olivia, who had been swaying absentmindedly to the music.  
They looked around, searching for inspiration, “backstage?” Suggested Larry.  
Off they went.

Backstage was cold.  
And dark.  
And damp.  
And if Larry was honest he didn’t really want to be there anymore, but Jacquelyn was behind him, and he also didn’t want to step on her foot again any time soon.  
He forced himself to keep walking as Jacques and Olivia checked every name label on the doors, “just stop when you get to a weird name,” added Jacquelyn.  
They kept walking.

It was cold.  
It was dark.  
It was damp.  
And Larry still didn’t want to be there.  
In fact, he hadn’t wanted to be there for quite a while now actually but Jacquelyn was walking wayyyyy too purposefully behind him and kept chivying him up whenever he tried to slow down, so he supposed he wasn’t stopping.  
“STOP!” Shouted Olivia.  
Larry grinned, maybe he was in luck!  
“What do you reckon Jacquelyn, ‘D.J. Thing that I said ea-ear-earlierrrrrr DROP THE BEAT MAN!’?”  
“That’ll be him,” Muttered Jacquelyn.  
“These names are so awful they make me want to cry,” commented Jacques conversationally.

The door was locked.

Jacquelyn prepared to attempt to kick the door down, but Olivia looked scandalised, “you can’t break and enter! It’s against the law!”  
Jacquelyn sighed, “fine. It’s no fun with you Law-abiding goody-two-shoes’”.  
“At least we know he’s the D.J., and therefore out there,” Said Larry, pointing towards the source of the terrible music.  
They headed back out towards the light.

  
“ _Tra la la, Fiddle dee dee,_  
 _Hope you get well soon._  
 _Ho ho ho, hee hee hee,_  
 _Have a heart-shaped ballooooooOOOOONNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!”_

“And that was the truly.. fantastic... V.F.D!!!!!” announced a very familiar voice.  
“Oh sugarplums!” exclaimed Olivia, “it really is him!”  
“But nexxttttttttt....” Olaf continued, “is the act you have allllll been waiting for!!!!”  
The crowd began to stamp their feet and cheer, with some members of the audience looking close to fainting, “I bring you............”, the screaming intensified,

 

“THE BAUDELAIRE BRATS!!!!!!”

 

  
Jacquelyn, Olivia, and Jacques exchanged shocked looks, and Larry dropped his tray of salmon wraps.

  
Music (the type of music that Olivia would call ‘modern’, with a face that looked as though the music had personally offended her), blared, and the stage went black.

Then a voice that sounded very much like Klaus Baudelaire came from somewhere in the dark, “we’ve got swag!”  
“Our fortune?” It was Violet Baudelaire’s unmistakeable voice.  
“No! Our sweet style!”  
“Belurh, dhdkfic!” (Which means, for anyone who doesn’t speak ‘baby’, “hell yeah! Our sweet style!”).

The lights went up and the Baudelaire orphans walked forward all in black, their golden dollar signs glinting.  
“ _WHAT’VE WE GOT?!_ ” Shouted Violet,  
“SWEET STYLE!!!!!!” returned the audience enthusiastically.  
“ _Belurh, dhdkfic!_ ”   
(Hell yeah! Our sweet style!)  
“ _Oh yeah, oh yeah, we’ve got it, we’ve got it_ ”, Klaus repeated in the background   
“ _Dhdkfic!_ ”  
(Sweet style!)  
“ _We tell ‘em we’ve got it, they can see it in our eyes, oh yeah, oh yeah,”_  
“ _Our sweet style_!”  
 _“They say Olaf tried to steal our fortune but we don’t care,”_  
 _“Don’t care, don’t care,”_  
“ _Cuz what can he steal when we got this, we got this...!”_

“ _WHAT’VE WE GOT?”_

“SWEET STYLE!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed the audience.

 

Jacquelyn was horrified.  
Jacques was laughing.  
Olivia looked like she was about to cry.  
Larry was-  
Larry was-  
Nowhere to be seen...?  
“WHERE IS LARRY?!!!!!!!!!” screamed Jacquelyn.  
“I don’t kn-“, Olivia began, and then a stricken look passed over her face and she pointed wordlessly to the stage.  
Jacquelyn stepped back in surprise and then felt herself being grabbed. “Mmmmm!!!!” She shouted, as a hand was put over her mouth.  
Jacques and Olivia were both being held hostage too, by members of Olaf’s gang.

“- _And I work at SaLmonHella! Looking sharp in that saLmon suit but I can take you on, hey, you think you’re cute?_  
 _Got ma mates here, but oh no! They’ve been kidnapped by the ones I hate!”_  
The crowd gasped,  
 _“Right in front of your eyes, but is it really a big surprise, cos’ I know who’s making me pout, IT’S HIM! THE COUNT!”_  
Several members of the audience fainted as they turned towards the hostages. Who had done this?! What did the man say again?!   
 **THE D.J!**  
The crowd began swarming the D.J. stand, trying to attack the man and claim justice for this fishy rapper.

Running towards his friends, Larry lost the Baudelaire children in the rush of the crowd.  
“Jacquelyn! Olivia! Jacques!” Larry shouted, bashing people out of the way with his magnificent SaLmon suit.  
“We’re over here!” came Olivia’s cry, and, watching the Baudelaires disappear from view, felt a tear slip down her face.  
Jacquelyn watched Olaf make his great escape, and felt a blood vessel burst.  
Jacques watched Olivia crying, unable to do anything, and felt his heart burst. 

Later, they drove back to Jacques’ flat in defeat and Larry munched on a SaLmon wrap that he had stolen. He paused, his face screwing up in remorse.  
“Oh my SaLmon!” He exclaimed.  
“What?”  
“What?!”  
“WHAT?!”  
screamed the members of V.F.D. with varying degrees of interest,  
“I’m eating my own kind... I AM A CANNIBAL!”

Silence descended in the car.

“Larry,” said Jacquelyn,  
“Yes?” whispered Larry, close to tears,  
“You are an idiot.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look away, look away, look away, look away.  
> This chapter makes you cry 'cause Gustav is dead, guess Olaf is a massive airhead.  
> So look away, look away, look away.  
> Larry is a cannibal, working at 'It's a wrap'  
> I ship Monty and Gustav, please give them a clap,  
> Oh dear, Voldy and Olaf are united at last   
> If you cry, I'm afraid it is your fault that you asked.  
> Just look away, look away.

The four defeated V.F.D. members were too tired to even eat after what felt like their busiest day in a million years.

Jacques showed them his small flat. “I’m poor!” He wailed, when Olivia jokingly asked if he had a library.

Jacques made up the sofa bed for Jacquelyn (Larry had tried to win it off her during an intense game of rock-paper-scissors, and had lost, so he had to make do with an uncomfortable old mattress and blanket on the floor).

The four of them talked, rather disheartened, about what they would do tomorrow now that Olaf (“and the Baudelaires,” said Olivia, her eyes filling with tears), had escaped their grasp again.

It was decided that Larry would go back to his new job at ‘it’s a wrap!’ to try to scout out any clues that the fiendish troope had left behind.

Jacquelyn glumly admitted that she would have to go back to work with Mr. Poe because he was the only one who might have some clues to the Baudelaires’ whereabouts, although Jacquelyn highly doubted that the insufferably idiotic man would know where the Baudelaires’ were if they ran him over in an ice cream van.

Jacques pointed to his map with which he was tracking Olaf, and it was decided that both Olivia and Jacques would have to dedicate their next month to tracking the man, given the dastardly villain was at large again, despite several weeks of inactivity, so he must have some evil plan under his sleeve.

Olaf was back on the lamb, and this time the volunteers would put such a fence around him that he would never escape again.

 

Pressure and unease weighing heavy in their minds, the members of VFD fell into fitful sleeps (Larry not least because he was sleeping on the floor).

Both Jacques and Olivia were rather stiffly perched at either end of the bed. It was their first time sharing as Jacques normally, and valiantly, took the sofa bed.

Olivia didn’t quite know what to make of this new experience, but she was so strung up with the incidents of the day that she was sure she would never sleep without a kind word or murmur of comfort from the man next to her.

“Jacques?” She whispered, “are you awake?”

“Yes,” replied Jacques softly.

“You... you don’t have to sleep over there, you know,” Olivia’s voice trembled with exhaustion.

Concerned, Jacques turned to face Olivia, just in time to see a single tear slip down her cheek before she hurriedly wiped it away.

Distraught, Jacques shuffled up to her as she sniffed quietly, and held her, stroking her hair.

“Shhh,” he soothed, “I’ve got you, Olivia Caliban, and I’m never letting you go, I promise you’re safe.”

“I love you,” Olivia whispered into his shirt.

“I love you too.”

 

Jacquelyn couldn’t sleep. Eyes open, staring at the ceiling, her mind swirled with the memories, quiet words and bitten lips that Olaf’s presence had reawakened.

Jacquelyn knew she’d remember that evening at the VFD headquarters forever. They all would, surely, but each with different emotions attached.

Jacquelyn remembered it with sheer, unchecked joy at first. They were all so young, so wild, so free.

And then she remembered how quickly those feelings were, to use the French term, ‘bouleversé’ - a word which here means the movement of emotions drastically turned around to produce an upsetting outcome.

 

Although she was sure he would have felt the pain of the loss of Beatrice Baudelaire soon after, she imagined that Gustav Sebold had remembered the evening with such a rare tenderness impossible to describe.

Gustav.

Her accomplice, but more importantly, her best friend.

He had told her all the minute details afterwards of course. And she, Jacquelyn listened in fascination, and sometimes slight horror as Gustav went into some of the finer details of his evening.

She had listened in pride and love once she had realised that her best friend looked the happiest she had ever seen him.

 

She supposed that they both had Georgina Orwell to thank in the end, when it all came down to it, due to her uncanny match-making ability.

When she had walked past Gustav for the first time that night, she could now recall the glassy look in his soft eyes that had meant Georgina Orwell had him well-within her eager clutches. Jacquelyn remembered having been relieved when Orwell had winked and pointed surreptitiously to the man across the far end of the room.

Perhaps she should have realised that Orwell’s hypnotising tricks would have a terrifying effect in the future.

Oh well, it was too late for that now.

 

Jacquelyn had watched from a distant corner of the room as Orwell had pushed a hypnotised Gustav towards the kind and smiling eyes of Dr. Montgomery Montgomery.

Then, saying the word that released Gustav from his trance, Orwell had snuck off, giggling.

Jacquelyn had also withdrawn her watch from her best friend in order to give him some privacy.

It was at this point that the narration effectively switched over to Gustav as Jacquelyn did not bear witness to the following events, it was Gustav who had told her them, eyes burning and heart racing.

 

Gustav stared at the man in front of him, confused.

“Ermmm... hello?” He asked uncertainly.

“What’s wrong my dear friend?” Asked Monty smiling at his only employee who had slowly become his closest friend due to the time they spent together filled with reptiles, codes, books, art, and film, with the added bonus of comfortable silences and late nights.

Possibly, Gustav was something more to Monty. Something much more.

 

Gustav blinked, “well, one minute I was with Georgina Orwell, and the next is a blank,” he frowned, looking adorably confused.

“Well yes,” Monty said jovially, “I do believe Georgina is improving her hypnotisise.”

Gustav was very vaguely troubled by this idea - who knows what the woman could do when she became more powerful...

Gustav sighed and mentally scolded himself. He really ought to stop his thoughts from running away with-

“Gustav?” Inquired Monty gently.

“Ah, I’m so sorry Monty, my thoughts... well, you know how it is”.

“Of course, of course,” murmured Monty sympathetically.

“I really am sorry, I seem to be doing it rather a lot lately,” said Gustav apologetically.

“Oh no worries my dear fellow, none at all”.

They stood together for a minute in a slightly awkward silence.

“I wonder why...” began Gustav, and then stopped.

“Hmmm?” Asked Monty encouragingly.

“I wonder why Georgina brought me over to you, that’s all, I mean I was hypnotised. Of all the things she could have done...”

“Well, Larry told me that the woman does have an unspeakably good match-making ability,” mused Monty, before realising what he had said, and blushing a violent shade of pink, “uh, I mean, it’s only a theory, heh,” he added desperately, shifting from foot to foot.

Gustav’s cheeks were also dusted a light shade of pink, but he still grinned at seeing Monty writhing uncomfortably.

“Oh really?” He Asked slyly, “I wonder why she’d pair us up. Any ideas?”

“Nope!” squeaked Monty, still blushing furiously, “none at all.”

“Hmmm, well I can sure think of a few,” whispered Gustav, leaving down and pressing the lightest of kisses onto Monty’s lips.

 

 

Gustav pulled away slowly, judging carefully for Monty’s reaction.

Deep brown pleading eyes met his own, “don’t pull away!” Begged Monty indignantly.

Gustav grinned, “I’ll let Jacquelyn know that we’re leaving. Let’s go home love, shall we?”

“Yes please,” breathed Monty, his eyes sparkling with joy.

 

 

A short time later, the two of them lay slightly haphazardly on Monty’s sofa, both unable to quell their desire and love until they had reached Monty’s bedroom.

“G-Gustav!” Monty had gasped desperately pressing himself against his lover’s chest.

“What is it that you want, love?” Asked Gustav gently, but with a teasing glint in his eye. After all, he knew very well what it was Monty wanted, he just wanted to be sure, wanted to hear him say it.

“You,” breathed Monty, flushing again, but ploughing through, “I want you... inside of me.”

Gustav blinked. He hadn’t actually expected Monty to be that direct.“You do?” He asked, slightly surprised.

“Yes, Gustav, please!” The gorgeous (or so Gustav thought anyway), man below him begged.

 

Gently, Gustav removed Monty’s top as the other man squirmed beneath him, and tugged at Gustav’s suit desperately.

Gustav laughed breathlessly, “patience, Monty, patience,” he said fondly, chuckling.

“Noooooo”, complained Monty, pouting adorably, “I want to see you,” he added, more earnestly.

“And I,” said Gustav, undoing the button on Monty’s trousers and slowly taking them off, “want to see you”.

 

 

Both undressed, Gustav carefully slipped a well-lubricated finger into Monty. Figuring the hitch of breath was a good sign, he gently slipped in a second finger, and, when he sensed Monty was comfortable, he began to scissor up and down.

Monty was not often a quiet man, and sex it seemed, was no exception. The loud moan that erupted from Monty’s lips made Gustav smile - to know that he was pleasuring the man he loved in such a way made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

 

A few minutes later of careful preparation and Monty was already groaning in want, “please Gustav, I’m ready!”

Gustav smiled, “I do believe we both are.”

He shifted and positioned himself above Monty.

There was a moments quiet.

“Gustav,” said Monty uncertainly, “are you sure you want to do this with ... me?”

“Monty,” whispered Gustav, “I want you. I need you,” and then, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” breathed Monty.

Gustav kissed him tenderly and drew back to look into his eyes. They held the truth and Gustav knew that he would never doubt this beautiful, kind man.

He pushed in.

 

 

Despite honestly adoring Gustav (and Monty of course), Jacquelyn had forced Gustav to pause there in his storytelling. Partly because of the faraway and lustful look in his soft eyes, and partly because she believed that such intimate moments should be kept close to the heart of oneself, where only the other half can find the key.

 

She had always wondered, on the day that Monty had sat down with the Baudelaire children and ‘Stefano’ (Olaf - here she snorted. What a fucking terrible disguise!), to watch the film with herself and Gustav in, in order to help the children, how Monty must have felt seeing his lover’s face again.

 

She realised that she had never asked.

 

Mind plunged into a numb and guilt-stricken darkness, Jacquelyn slipped into an uneasy sleep at last.

 

 

Larry, confused, lay awake long into the night, wondered whether or not he really was a cannibal for having eaten that salmon wrap.

 

 

Unknown to all of them, Voldemort did not sleep (‘he was now on the lamb after all’, he reminded himself), and neither did Olaf sleep for he was on the lamb as well, and an unfortunate meeting was about to take place.

 

 

“STOP!” A voice shouted from a dark alleyway.

Voldemort groaned, he had thought he’d gotten away with it to. Now he’d have to obliviate whoever was about to arrest him - how tedious.

“You’re that man who burned down the Orphanage, right?” came the voice again, “you were all over that stupid ‘daily punctillio’’s front page.”

Voldemort sighed, maybe the muggles were better than he’d thought as it seemed they’d even managed to get a picture of him despite his disapperating skills.

“Uh yeah, that’s me,” he said, unsure of what to actually say as he drew his wand out.

The man from the alleyway started to laugh, “you’re threatening me with a stick??! What’re you gonna do, choke me with it?”

Voldemort paused, choosing not to comment on the obvious innuendo, “no, it’s my wand.”

“Ooh, is it magical and made of stiff wood?” Snorted the man, clearly implying sexual meaning. Voldemort glared. He should probably just obliviate this guy right now, but it was also kind of entertaining - he’d give him a chance to run away.

“It is magical; I am a wizard,” he said shortly.

“Do sparks fly out the end?” chortled the irritating man, clearly too preoccupied with his joke to realise Voldemort was actually serious.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, “I am a wizard,” he said again, bluntly.

“Yeah, yeah, go on then, show me some coin tricks,” replied the shadowy man, and Voldemort wondered if he’d finally got the message.

Casually, he conjured up a coin with his wand. “Haha, that’d be a great hit with some annoying orphans I know!” Said the man, still laughing.

‘Oh’, Voldemort realised. The stupid little man thought he was some kind of children’s entertainer, “I’m not some stupid wanna-be magician,” he grumbled.

“Oh no,” said the other man, “quite right, you are a Wizard,” he agreed, but putting emphasis on the last word, indicating that he did not take Voldemort seriously at all.

“I don’t think that you quite understand,” said Voldemort stiffly, “I could blow your brains to oblivion with just one flick of my wand.”

“Ooooh, good chat-up line that is!”

Argh. Voldemort was not getting ANYWHERE! In fact, he couldn’t even justify to himself why he hadn’t already blown the man’s tiny brain out of his equally annoying head. He supposed because it would be even more amusing to prolong it and see what the idiot said next. Obviously.

“I am a wizard,” he repeated.

This seemed to remind the man of something, “hey, have you seen that HILARIOUS video on YouTube?”

Voldemort looked at him blankly.

“Oh my GOD, it’s so funny! Sure, it’ll be slightly different here because you do (for some bizarre reason - probably mental health problems -) “think that you actually are a wizard, but we can still re-enact it!”

Voldemort had no idea what he was talking about.

“Say it again! Say ‘I am a wizard’ again!”

“I am a wizard,” Voldemort repeated tonelessly.

“No you’re not! You’re just - “.

Here, the man paused, “what actually is your name?”

“Voldemort,” said Voldemort. He paused.

The man appeared to be dying from laughter.

Voldemort blinked.

“That’s hilarious!! Is that your actual name???”

At Voldemort’s nod (he didn’t want to be associated with muggles, and ‘Tom’ was such a common name), the man collapsed with mirth again.

 

Finally, he recovered his breath as Voldemort fixed him with an icy gaze.

“Where were we? Oh yes, ‘you’re not a wizard, you’re just... Voldemort!”

Voldemort glared, he’s had enough of this, “I’m not ‘just Voldemort’, I AM A WIZARD!”

The man wheezed with laughter again, “haha, you must have, ha, seen it, ha, then!”

Voldemort didn’t know what ‘youtube’ was, and had no clue what the man was talking about, so he probably hadn’t seen ‘it’, but he didn’t say so - it would probably set the man off laughing again. He really was insufferable.

“Anyway,” the muggle continued, “my part, ‘you’re not a fucking wizard, you’re just Voldemort!’”

Oh, so the muggle has resorted to swearing at him now, had he? Well two could play at that game!

“I am NOT ‘just Voldemort’, I am A FUCKING WIZARD!” he bellowed.

The muggle seemed to find this the funniest thing yet, “oh yeah, wan’ a go do yeh?! I’ll blow yeh apart!!” he shouted, adopting some strange sort of accent that reminded Voldemort uncannily of that oaf, Hagrid - ugh, he couldn’t believe Headmaster Dippet hadn’t expelled him, all because of fucking Dumbledore!

“Yeah!” Voldemort said angrily, “y’know what? I DO WANT A GO! Fists on fists, I won’t even use my wand, just to make it fair!”

“Oh no, you can rip me apart from the insides if you use your wand well!” replied the man.

Voldemort was just about to agree and start listing some hexes where he could do just that, before he saw the man had started laughing again and realised that it was just one of his stupid innuendos.

“You’re fun, you are!” chuckled the muggle, holding onto the wall so he wouldn’t fall over from laughter, “I might keep you around. You burnt down that orphanage then?”

“Yeah,” said Voldemort, feeling rather annoyed.

“Well, what d’ya know, I burn down orphanages too!” Replied the man with a nasty smile, coming out of the alleyway and into the light, “recognise me? The handsome one from the newspaper?”

He seemed to be expecting Voldemort to say yes. Voldemort had no clue who he was, not least because he hadn’t actually read a muggle newspaper, “no,” he said bluntly.

The man looked very disheartened.

“I’m ... COUNT OLAF! THE Count Olaf!” He said dramatically.

Voldemort shook his head, having no clue who he was.

“Well alright, I might keep you on anyway, despite your lack of global, common knowledge,” said the man begrudgingly.

“Er, okay,” said Voldemort, who wasn’t sure what being ‘kept on’ meant, and was rather out of his depth.

“Come, meet my infamous gang, and if we all ‘gell’ (as the kids say), maybe you can get a part of the orphans’ massive FORTUNE,” said Olaf, leading the way.

 

Olaf smiled sinisterly; he would never part with the Baudelaire’s fortune but he certainly wasn’t going to tell ‘Voldemort’ that. Maybe he’d humour Voldemort for now, and drop him later.

 

Voldemort followed behind him (he really did need some muggle money if he was planning on staying), - maybe he’d humour Olaf for now and kill him later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look away, look away, look away, look away.  
> This chapter may be the very strangest yet.  
> Just a wee warning, the dogs aren't here to pet.  
> So look away, look away, look away.  
> A familiar face enters the scene through tinder  
> We're surprised this story hasn't blown into cinders  
> Larry is sadly forced to get out of his gills  
> If that doesn't make you cry I'm afraid I don't know what will.  
> Just look away, look away.

Posters were everywhere.

Olaf smiled, satisfied. He couldn’t help it if he was so popular! He flashed a grin in the mirror opposite him and then frowned. Okay, he admitted, so he might've put them up himself, but, he had convinced the gang, they hadn't put _that many_ up, and the amount of posters had _clearly_ doubled, (or rather tripled, Olaf smirked), overnight.  
He grinned again. Ah, the fame!  
Maybe the idea of a circus, a pack of starving lions, and a very creepy foreign legend had helped spread the news and had something to do with his stardom, but only a _little_ bit.  
Obviously the main reason of the magically reproducing posters was due to his being ‘THE COUNT OLAF’, as he announced dramatically to his crew daily.  
Voldemort therefore rolled his eyes daily.  
The man was ridiculous, and had to keep being reminded that he was no longer ‘the great Count Olaf’, but instead the ‘legend Count Arnau’ from Catalonia, Spain.  
Olaf really was grasping at straws with this one, Voldemort thought, it was so far fetched that no one would ever believe it, not even that idiotic imbecile Mr. Poe that Olaf kept lecturing him on.

The only good thing about the whole situation was that Olaf’s crew consisted of vaguely interesting people.  
Sure, the hook-handed man with the die-hard crush on Olaf had to be a little odd to like Olaf at all, and the twins who spoke at exactly the same pitch were admittedly quite creepy, the gender-fluid person did seem a bit out-of-it though, oh, and then there was that other guy who was just _there_.  
Come to think of it, Olaf's crew were just weird. But weird in a _bad_ way.

Even worse, Olaf was insane, inept and irritating.  
Glancing over his shoulder, Voldemort saw Olaf immersed in his 'moble fone'. The very concept of those small little box-like things still bamboozled him. He had no idea what they did, although Olaf seemed to be smiling grimly at the screen, uttering strangled cries of irritation every few minutes.  
Really though, the most humiliating aspect of this whole affair was that they had to act as ‘growling, blood-thirsty hell-hounds', a far cry from Voldemort's wizarding fame, known everywhere by the phrase; 'He Who Must Not Be Named', which was, to his pride, often spoken in low hushed whispers, the fear unmistakable in peoples voices.  
It was just cruel, what he was going through. His fingers ached from what Muggles called 'sowing'. Or was it 'sewing'? He really should have paid more attention in 'Muggle studies', rather than killing the teacher.

“Hey Boss, what’s this legend about again?”  
Olaf looked up from swiping left on Tinder to glare at the Hook-handed man. “What now?! I’ve already told you!”  
“Err, I might have forgotten, sorry Boss.”  
Olaf fixed him with an icy stare.  
"The Count was known for his deadly cruelty and lechery and because of this he rode around on a horse with a pack of demonic dogs for all of time."  
“That’s not very nice!” The hook-handed man replied, looking shocked.  
“Oh for goodness sake, go away,” Olaf said, annoyed, “and don’t forget again or I might just forget you!”  
"Sorry Boss!"  
"Where are those pesky children anyway?"  
"I tied them up to a chair in the tent Boss, like you said."  
"Good." Olaf snorted, waving his hand to dismiss the man, and returned back to his phone.  
Rolling his eyes and sighing a dramatic sigh, Olaf glanced over his Tinder profile.

It read;

 _\- Too handsome to be allowed_  
\- Lover of absolutely legal plots  
\- Currently trying to capture some annoying Orphans to claim their not-so-annoying fortune  
\- Don’t swipe left - I’m a grudge-holder

He smiled sinisterly - it wasn’t all that bad. Then, Olaf went back to swiping.  
"No, no, nope, no way, no, no." He muttered underneath his breath, swiping left more and more ferociously.  
‘Georgina?!’ He spotted his former girlfriend Georgina Orwell's profile. ‘Huh. I thought she was dead?’ He shook his head frowning.  
He swiped left.

Then, someone else caught his eye. Someone who he faintly recognised.

‘ _Esmé Squalor_ ’, it read.

‘ _The Inest person you will ever meet, and the city’s 6th most important financial advisor’._

Olaf had no clue what it meant to be ‘In’, but she sounded powerful, and, he reasoned, he needed someone who could influence people if he wanted to make this Spanish Legend and _absolutely-a-circus-and-not-an-orphan-trap_ believable.

He read on;

‘ _Looking for a good time, dangerous schemes, and some real-life orphans. 100% sexy-evil_ ’

Huh, Olaf liked the sound of this! He swiped right and waited, humming under his breath with excitement. Surely a new partner meant a new musical number to sing to her! He chuckled, tapping his foot to an imaginary rhythm.

A few minutes later a message flashed across his screen: ‘ _Olaf and Esmé! It’s a match!’_

He grinned, and typed;  
‘ _Hey Esmé, this is THE Count Olaf. Wanna grab a drink... and some orphans?’_  
Laughing quietly to himself, Olaf rubbed his hands together and stood up, wandering leisurely towards the Baudelaire tent.  
"Oh Baudelaires!" He called, smirking. "Baudelaire-" he broke off frowning.  
What was that horrific noise? It sounded like someone was dying in there. Olaf quickened his pace and strode into the tent.

"Ah! Hello!"  
Olaf's eyes narrowed.  
Mr. Poe stood in the middle of the room, straightening and wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.  
"I'm Mr. Poe, head of-"  
"Yes, yes, we know." Olaf groaned, rolling his eyes.  
"I got re-promoted yesterday you know," the man continued, "because I showed-"  
"I don't care." Olaf growled, starting towards him.  
"Well, heh, anyway, I see you've already met your new guardian, Baudelaires." He gestured to Olaf standing opposite him who was breathing rather heavily.  
"Yes." Olaf said through gritted teeth.  
"Although," Mr. Poe frowned suddenly, as though the thought had just hit him; "I must ask; Violet, what are you, Klaus, and Sunny doing tied to that chair?"  
"We didn't-" Klaus began.  
"They decided to play a game I expect." Olaf interjected, attempting to smile as kindly as he could, although to the Baudelaires, it looked as though he was about to eat them.  
"Oh, I see!" Mr. Poe beamed down at them. "Ah, young at heart!"  
"I know," Olaf agreed simperingly, "so young, so fresh, and with such large fortunes."  
"Fortunes?" Mr. Poe frowned.  
'Wow', Olaf thought, 'something finally managed to get through that thick skull of his'.  
"Did I say 'fortunes'?" He backtracked. "I meant... errr... Flamingos!"  
"Oh of course! Yes, Flamingos! I must have misheard!"  
"You must have." Olaf sneered.  
"Anyway children, I hope you have a lovely time with... errr... I forget the name."  
"You must have heard of me! I am... ummm Count- uhhhh... Count.." Olaf winced. Why the hell was the name so hard to pronounce.  
"Ah... umm Count Arnau?" Mr. Poe smiled.  
"Yes! Correct! You're quite right!"  
“But Mr. Poe, THIS IS COUNT OLAF!” Violet yelled angrily.  
“Violet, I’m surprised at you! This man is clearly a Count, yes, but he is Count Arnau, not Count Olaf! Ah, maybe it was the pronunciation.”  
“Mr. Poe, we have studied Catalan before, we haven’t got the pronunciation wrong!” Klaus Baudelaire protested, “we mean that he is Count Olaf!”  
“Gosh Klaus, you are an intelligent child, surely you can see that this man doesn’t have a tattoo on his left ankle!”  
The Count smirked.  
“We can’t possibly be related to him - he’s from Spain!”  
“Catalonia actually.” Olaf chipped in.  
“Catalonia is in Spain!” Klaus said.  
“Not if we get independence.” Olaf said, grinning.  
“How are you related to us anyway, _Count Arnau_?” Violet asked, glaring meaningfully at Count Olaf.  
“Violet, you can’t ask an immigrant a question like that, you have no idea what he’s been though!” Mr. Poe interjected, shocked.  
"You don't know what we've been through!" Klaus exclaimed, "and anyway, legends and myths aren't real."  
“Klaus!” Mr. Poe shrieked, “you can’t say that! You’ll spoil it for Sunny!”  
“Muerhdj kfisns.” said Sunny.  
“What my sister means to say is that she isn’t stupid!” Violet translated. “She knows that Count Arnau doesn’t exist and that this is really Count Olaf!”  
“Besides,” Klaus added, “I’ve been doing some research, and this legend began ages ago! Count Arnau should be dead!”  
“Clearly you didn’t do enough research, _Orphan_ , because Count Arnau lives for eternity, and besides, I’m immortally handsome.” Here, he laughed at his own joke.

“Actually, speaking of the legend, aren’t you supposed to be accompanied by fire-breathing hell-hounds?” Mr. Poe inquired.  
“What? Oh yes, they’re just over there.” Olaf said quickly, pointing some reasonably unconvincing ‘dogs’.  
“Woof.” Said the crew unenthusiastically.  
“Ah yes!” Mr. Poe said, clapping his hands together. “I’m sure you’re going to have a lovely time here, children. I’ll be here to watch the show! See you soon now!"

\-----------------------------------

The members of V.F.D. looked around. They were stood outside Jacques house and surrounded by a very familiar face.  
‘Count Arnau!’ read the posters, ‘the living legend and his circus!’  
“Don’t they mean ‘Count Olaf’?” Larry muttered grumpily, (he wasn’t a morning person), peeling a poster of ‘Count Arnau’ off his face where the fierce wind had blown it.  
Just then, a woman they all recognised hurried past them squealing; "Baudelaires gone to live with legendary Count Arnau!’ Wait until the readers of the Daily Punctillio hear about _this_!”  
Jacques eyed her with distaste, raising a perfectly-manicured, but rough-looking enough-to-suggest-he-fought-dastardly-villains eyebrow. "The children are in Olaf’s clutches. Again.”  
“This is worse than we thought.” Jacquelyn said solemnly, a hand on her hip. “Larry, you’re with me.”  
Larry smiled nervously, unsure whether or not he was glad about this given that Jacquelyn was currently striking a defiant-heroine pose.  
“Olivia Caliban, are you ready?” Jacques asked.  
“If I wait until I’m ready I’ll be waiting for the rest of my life,” Olivia replied, taking Jacques outstretched hand.  
“Jacquelyn, Larry, we’ll take it from here, if you’ll take it from there.”  
“Absolutely,” Jacquelyn replied, grabbing Larry and shoving him (with difficulty because he was still wearing his Salmon suit), into the car, starting the engine and speeding off down the road.

“Hold on to something sturdy.” Jacques said to Olivia, starting the engine and also beginning to drive at top speed.  
Feeling Olivia’s hand gripping his shoulder, Jacques shared a smile with her, like they had done all that time ago.

\-----------------------------------

“Why on earth have you taken me here?!” Esmé Squalor shrieked, finally looking up from her mobile phone where she had been taking selfies and scrolling through Instagram.  
“The orphans are here, pretty lady, I have already told you,” said Olaf, rolling his eyes to himself for the upteenth time.  
“What? Oh right.” Esmé said absentmindedly, distracted again with getting her pout right for her new Twitter profile. “What do you think of this one?” she asked Olaf, showing him yet another selfie.  
“Perfect,” the Count said through gritted teeth. "That’s my favourite one, really shows off your ... hair,” he said lamely.  
Esmé glared at him. "But I’m wearing a hat!”  
“What? Oh, we’re here! Watch out for the pack of hungry lions... they’re here somewhere.” Olaf said vaguely, rejoicing inwardly at the worried look on Esmé’s face - if he had to look at another one of her ridiculous selfies again he might murder her before the lions got the chance.

“Who’s this?” Esmé asked, a note of jealously seeping into her voice. “I thought you were single!”  
“I ... am?” Olaf replied confused, also looking at the strange woman coming towards them.

“I ‘eard dat you are de Comte Arnau?” the woman said gaudily, her dark hair blowing behind her in the light wind.  
“Yep, that’s me!” Olaf said, before cursing inwardly; he really needed to master his Catalan-Spanish accent.  
“I am ze Madame Zulu,” continued the woman; “from La France, but I ‘ave ‘eard all about ze legend.”  
Olaf frowned; the name Madame Zulu seemed awfully familiar but he couldn’t work out from where.  
“I am fortune teller, I want earn money and dis is circus, you hire me, no?”  
Olaf glared. He didn’t have any money at all, certainly not to pay staff, but fortune tellers would surely invite more crowds.

“Yes.” he said stiffly.  
“Excellentttttttttt!!!!!” Madame Zulu squealed, clapping her hands together.  
Olaf could already feel a headache coming on. “Now go away,” he said, annoyed.  
“I go, I go.” Madame Zulu reassured him, before looking Esmé up and down and saying, nose in the air, “I no like clothes. They not ‘in’.”  
Esmé gasped, looking an unflattering mixture of outraged and disgusted. "You are a fortune teller! You know nothing about fashion!”  
“I from Paris. I know everyting ‘bout fashion.” Said Madame Zulu haughtily, walking off.

\-----------------------------------

“For goodness sake Larry, LET GO!” Jacquelyn screamed.

They had been playing this game of tug-of-war for what felt like at least an hour now, and although Jacquelyn was far stronger than him, Larry’s desperation was making him very determined.

“No! It’s my home Jacquelyn! My safe place! You don’t understand!”  
“Larry, this is ridiculous! It is not your home!” Jacquelyn tugged.  
Larry tugged harder. “It is! I’ve been through so much with it. We’ve been on a journey!”  
“Don’t use the ‘J’ word, Larry, you know how much I hate it!”  
“That’s why I used it! Now give me it back!”  
“Ouch Larry, as Josephine would say, you’ve just committed a serious grammatical error!”  
“No I hadn’t!”  
“It’s ‘HAVE’! Not ‘HAD!’” Jacquelyn put her entire weight into the tug-of-war and there was an ominous ripping noise.

It had split in two.

“Noooooo! My SaLmon suit!” Larry burst into tears, gathering the torn remains of his costume into his arms.  
“It had to be done. Now put on this horse costume!”  
Larry glared through his tears, “I don’t see Jacques and Olivia dressing up in this ridiculous outfit any time soon.”  
“That’s because they don’t have to. Olivia just has to pose as ‘Madame Zulu’ and Jacques has to get a trap ready, remember?”  
“Yeah." Larry sniffed.  
“Come on then, don’t be a baby.” Jacquelyn said, poking him.  
“Ouch!"  
“Hurry up - you have to practice!”  
“Practice what?”  
“Neighing like a horse!”  
Larry glowered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look away, look away, look away, look away.  
> The cards are being dealt and time is ticking fast  
> I am afraid to say that this event will not yet pass  
> So look away, look away, look away.  
> Jacques creates a sturdy trapdoor for dastardly villains  
> Olivia reads and worries 'bout the poor little'uns   
> Volde digs a pit for a pack of very hungry lions  
> You, dear reader have no such shoulder to cry on  
> Just look away, look away.

"Ugh!" Esmé spat, "what a cow!"   
Olaf glanced at her. She was boiling over with rage, flames practically spouting out her ears, glaring at Madame Zulu's retreating back.  
"Aren't you going to say anything?!" Esmé scowled at him meaningfully.  
"What?" Olaf frowned, faking innocence, "oh, me?"  
"Yes!" Esmé snapped, poking him sharply.  
"Ow!" Olaf whimpered, and then pulled himself together. Getting into a fight with an ally was not what he needed right now. "Uh yes," he said lamely, "weird." He pretended to shake his head disapprovingly, "very weird indeed."  
"You're not going to hire her really, _are you_?" Esmé sounded calmer, but there was a warning tone in her voice that made Olaf quake.  
"Uhh, we'll have to see darling." He said nervously.  
Esmé huffed, scrunched up her eyes, balled her fists, and then stormed off in the direction of their tent.   
Olaf breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. Now he could get on with launching his _amazing_ show, starring the magical count Olaf! Oops, Count Arnau, he corrected himself. The magical count Arnau, he repeated. Now all he needed was a pit. A pit for his lovely starving lions. Olaf smirked, and then grinned, a odd laugh bursting through his lips, a sort of evil, merciless laugh that sounded exactly like he was ready to commit murder.   
Cracking his knuckles, he called over the 'wizard'. "Hey Boldy!"   
There was a shuffle of feet and then an indignant; "it's _Volde_ -mort!"  
Olaf rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, whateverrrrr."  
"What do you want?" Voldemort scowled, sidling over to Olaf.  
"I want you to build a pit!" Olaf smiled, his eyes glinting.  
Voldemort sighed. It would be easy with magic. But what if he got caught. Then he grinned. It wasn't like anyone was going to catch him. The place was basically deserted.  
"Sure." Voldemort said, trying not to snigger. This was just too easy.  
Olaf looked confused. "I did say a _pit_."  
"Yes?" Voldemort smiled as pleasantly as possible.  
"Uh okay." Olaf looked taken-aback. "Well you get on with that - just build it somewhere around here -" he gestured vaguely to the ground, before stalking off to a large red and white tent in the distance.

Voldemort groaned. He thought that ‘sewing’ was bad enough (the gender fluid person had corrected his spelling but Voldemort still hadn’t figured out any of their names. Oh well, it wasn’t like he was getting attached to them or anything, but he had to admit that it was fun being in his natural environment again - scheming).  
Now, he had to dig a pit too. A pit for two hungry lions. Voldemort thought this was animal cruelty personally - he might be a notorious murderer, but he wasn’t heartless.  
‘Ah well, there was nothing else for it’, he thought, upon seeing the ground marked with an X where he had to dig. He had to do magic. There was NO WAY he would manage to dig such a big pit by tomorrow morning.  
Suddenly Voldemort froze. If the pit hadn’t been dug yet, WHERE WERE THE LIONS??  
He heard a ferocious snarl behind him.  
For the first time since he had failed to kill Harry Potter, Voldemort felt genuinely terrified.  
Quaking, he turned around.  
A mass of golden yellow greeted him. And so did huge, sharp jaws.  
Voldemort took a step back, and another one.  
But to his grateful shock, the lion did not take a step forward. Voldemort frowned, looking past the two lions.  
They were attached to a rope. Which was attached to pebble.  
Voldemort had no idea why they couldn’t just drag the pebble with them. It wasn’t exactly a boulder.  
He cast a quick and undetectable shield around him, and got back to work, blasting away the ground, scattering the soil.

Within an hour, Voldemort had created a perfect, lion-sized pit. He smiled, impressed with his handiwork, and wiped his clean, dirt-free hands on his trousers.  
In the neighbouring tent he could hear the Baudelaire orphans whispering together. He glared in their general direction - they reminded him of baby orphan Harry Potter. “Those sneaking orphans better be thrown to the lions,” he muttered.  
A snarl from behind him quickly reminded him of the starving beasts in the tent with him, and he exited.

Olivia raised her eyebrows as she left Olaf and Esmé. That had gone surprisingly well, she thought, satisfied. Better still, she had managed to annoy the woman with him. The more annoyed the woman was, the less loyal she was likely to be to Olaf.  
Olivia reached her tent, deep in thought, and lifted the purple flap. Smoke greeted her and she smiled. 'Madame Zulu' was off to a good start. She fell into a large armchair and sighed, her hands automatically picking up the book on the table next to her. She frowned, reminding herself to be more careful in her disguise. Olaf would become suspicious.  
She opened the book anyway, letting the familiar relief rush over.  
It took Olivia a while to realise she was reading a romance novel. A very bad one at that.

Jacques Snicket, who was digging directly underneath the tent that Voldemort had been in just moments ago, had heard Voldemort’s mutterings, and was beginning to get very worried. Voldemort suspected that someone would get thrown to the lions? Of course, Jacques knew that already, that was why he was currently digging and placing a trapdoor at the bottom of the pit. However, he hadn’t bargained on it being the Baudelaires. Jacques had assumed that the children were safe because Olaf needed Violet alive to obtain their fortune, but, heart plummeting horribly, Jacques realised that Olaf wouldn’t be at all opposed to throwing either of the other Baudelaire children to the lions for the Circus’s popularity.  
With this terrifying thought in his mind, Jacques put the finishing touches to the trapdoor, covering it with dirt.  
Crawling back through the tunnel he had made that led to the door of Olivia’s fortune-telling tent, and meeting Jacquelyn and Larry in the beginning of the tunnel, he motioned for them to get inside Olivia’s tent. Jacquelyn and Larry crawled out with him, Larry especially fast because he was claustrophobic.

Olivia covered her mouth with her free hand, attempting to stifle the small moans that erupted occasionally from her lips. The romance novel might be terrible, she reasoned, but some of the sex was pretty steamy. She shifted slightly in her chair, her legs widening, her eyes scanning the pages, frantically trying to absorb every sentence.

It was a few seconds before she registered the knocking on the door.

Her fingers paused encircling her breasts. The silk material of her dress suddenly seemed tighter. Her mouth fell open slightly. She slammed the book shut and threw it onto the floor. Olivia stood quickly, her head aching painfully, and rushed to the door, smoothing her dress.   
Her hand on the doorknob, she faked a cheery smile and tried to slow her breathing.  
The door opened.

"Olivia?" Jacques said, taking in her flushed cheeks, frizzy hair and slightly guilty expression.  
"Jacques!" Olivia exclaimed, her voice higher than usual, feeling her cheeks reddening further, "Come in!"  
"Is everything okay?" He asked concerned.  
"Fine!" Olivia practically squealed.  
Jacques frowned and looked as though he was about to say something, but Jacquelyn and Larry elbowed their way inside, and starting gabbling about Larry's costume, the trapdoor, the lion pit, and the potential fate of the Baudelaires.  
Olivia gasped. "Those poor children! The trapdoor must save them Jacques!"  
"I promise you it will, Olivia." Jacques answered seriously, before his gaze fell on the book lying on the floor.  
"What's this Olivia?" He asked, a small smirk pulling at his lips as he stooped to pick it up.  
"N-nothing!" Olivia said quickly, trying to wrestle it from Jacques.  
Jacques knowing low chuckle made Olivia even more flustered. She looked desperately at the tent floor where the book had been.  
"Romance huh?" He smiled.  
Larry and Jacquelyn, who had been observing the crystal ball, turned interested towards them. "Romance?" Jacquelyn snorted. Larry however, looked strangely interested, and Jacquelyn laughed at him instead.  
Olivia watched in tortured apprehension as Jacques flipped to a random page in the book.  
As his eyes passed over the words, Olivia saw his eyebrows raising.   
He looked at her. "This book is very badly written."  
"That was exactly what I thought." Olivia replied.  
Jacques smiled gently, and then his smile grew into a look of puzzled amusement. "What were you doing before we got here?"  
Olivia winced, but said, "reading."  
"Is that all?" She heard the slight snigger in Jacques voice and knew he had her.  
She sighed.   
"Active reading?" Jacques suggested, grinning. "Understanding the narrator?"  
Olivia groaned. "Alright fine you win."  
Jacques raised an eyebrow. "So?"  
"So I got a bit too involved." Olivia said, aware that Jacquelyn and Larry were watching her.  
"Hey Olivia!" Larry interrupted.  
"Uh huh?" Olivia answered, grateful for the distraction.  
"Can I borrow that book?"  
"Screw this guys, let's play Black angel of life." Jacquelyn said, whipping out a pack of cards and dealing them with extreme speed.  
"What's 'black angel of life'?" Olivia frowned.  
"Oh it's just 'Black Maria'." Larry said.  
"Why are we calling it Black angel-"  
"It sounds sassy." Jacques grinned.  
"It sounds better if it's 'rainbow angel' because it's more inclusive." Larry muttered in the background.

"I just cannot _believe_ that _trashy_ fortune teller had the _nerve_ to-"  
Esmé was broken off by a large snore, and looked scathingly around the tent. "Who was that?" She demanded.  
"The twins." The bald man said, looking up at Esmé lovingly.  
"Oh." Esmé grimaced, taking out her phone.   
"Only 300 likes on my new profile?!" She shrieked. Then she shrugged. "I suppose it's not been up for long."  
"I liked it." The same man said.  
Esmé glanced at him, then looked away. "I'm letting my Snapchat followers know how terrible this date is." She announced, pressing a few buttons.  
"This...horrible..woman..just..harassed me..fortune teller..by the.. name of..Madame..Zulu..get..her." Esmé muttered under her breath. "There," she said, pleased, "my loyal followers will haunt her forever! Now..." she began to type again.

_Worst date ever but best day out for family and fans of potentially-life-threatening carnivorous beasts, plus the opportunity to be on my very own snapchat story. DO NOT MISS OUT._

"Ah sorted." Esmé smiled, and sat back in her chair, looking deeply offended when it creaked slightly. "Ugh I _hate_ camping chairs!"  
The bald man stared at her, a slack smile pulling at his mouth.  
"I don't even like camping! It's so out!" Esmé raged. "This day is just getting worse!"  
"When the boss comes back we can play cards." The bald man offered.  
Esmé looked at him haughtily and groaned.  
“CARDS!” Announced a familiar and irritating voice. Voldemort scowled. Olaf was back.  
"Already?!" Esmé sighed. "Why are you back so soon?"   
Olaf ignored her.   
“I hate cards,” Esmé added, a venomous snarl in her words. It reminded Voldemort of the furious and murderous lions he had just left. He wondered how Olaf and Esmé’s date had spiralled downhill so fast.  
Voldemort wasn’t sure he liked the Muggle world. It seemed more dangerous than the Wizarding world.  
“Oooh!” The twins chorused, having just woken up, “CARDS!!”  
“This is horrible,” spat Esmé.  
Olaf looked affronted, “I’m sure you’ll love it when we get started?” He said timidly.  
“How much are we playing for, Boss?” Asked the Hook-handed man, “because gambling is dangerous.”  
“For goodness sake!” Olaf groaned, “deal the cards,” he ordered the Bald man.  
“What are we playing?”  
“Black nightmare.”  
“Don’t you mean Black Maria?” Asked one of the twins.   
Olaf was so shocked that they had spoken individually for once that he didn’t reply immediately.  
“Hmm, Black nightmare sounds more edgy,” said the Bald man.  
“Isn’t it Black María? I thought it had a Spanish sound to it?” said the Hook-handed man vaguely.  
Olaf glared, “it’s Black Maria but with a different name, alright!”  
“Couldn’t you just call it Black Maria?” Asked the other twin.  
“No!”  
“This game is stupid anyway,” Esmé said angrily.  
“No, no it’s not, my dove,” Olaf said hurriedly, “we’re playing for money.”  
“Hmmm,” Esmé considered, “well maybe I will play then.”  
Voldemort had no clue what Black Maria or Black Nightmare was but he was sure he was going to find out.

The next day, they would be ready, Olaf thought, as he watched the cards being dealt. 


End file.
